


Obliged

by MiladyDeWinter (Techno_Queen)



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Angst, Bonding, Bunny screws up but it's all okay in the end, Constructive Criticism Welcome, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jack gets injured, graphic depictions of injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 16:57:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13685871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Techno_Queen/pseuds/MiladyDeWinter
Summary: A strange thing happens: Bunny invites Jack to paint eggs in his Warren. It is unusual, certainly, for the Pooka is a very private individual, but nevertheless it has happened.Jack decides to accept. After all, what was the worst that could happen?(Or: Bunny and Jack try to forge a friendship, but it all gets ruined by a crazy, homicidal egg golem)





	Obliged

Jack Frost was many things: a ‘jack of all trades’, so to speak. Some saw him as a troublemaker, a nuisance, a young, clueless spirit who was a waste of space and energy. Others maintained the viewpoint that Jack Frost was far from a common trickster, that he was also a warrior with a mind as sharp as a steel sword and a cruel streak that was wider and deeper than a glacier, that he was fierce fighter who should be taken seriously, for he wouldn’t hesitate to seriously injure or even kill.

Neither of these two viewpoints were strictly wrong, nor were they entirely correct. No, if you wanted an accurate description of the complex personality that was Jack Frost, you would need to hail to the select few that formed his entourage of friends, the handful of spirits who had seen him both at his best and at his worst, the tiny subset of people whom he trusted and who trusted him back. These spirits claimed that he was all these and more, a special combination of reckless prankster, calculating fighter, naive child, and cynical adult. Jack Frost was a living paradox, a medley of conflicting personalities that shouldn’t exist in a single person but somehow, inexplicably, _did_ , and this alone was enough to make him an unpredictable and potentially very dangerous individual. His entire demeanor and way of thinking could change at an instant’s notice, one moment a carefree teenager, the next a shrewd and crafty soldier, and oftentimes it was hard to judge what exactly would tip the balance between the two.

Currently, however, the scales were heavily tipped in favor of ‘rebellious, moping teen’. Jack was troubled, which was admittedly a rare occurrence, and as such he was commemorating this event by sulking at the top of a very large pine tree. 

There were several reasons why he was sulking. Some unforeseen hiccups had occurred at the Winter Court that delayed some of the storms that had been scheduled, and it was going to be pure torture trying to sort out the whole mess and restore balance to the weather systems. On top of that, the fire spirits were on the brink of declaring war against the Winter Court, and as they usually did every few decades, General Winter and Old Man Winter were trying to incite the winter spirits to rebellion. All in all, this year’s winter was going to be annoyingly eventful.

This was not the main reason for Jack’s funk, however. No, the reason for his distress laid in the strange behavior of one of his fellow Guardians. More specifically, that of one E. Aster Bunnymund.

To put it plainly, Bunny was acting weird. 

Well, to be fair, he always acted weird. He was a giant rabbit with an obsession for painting eggs, after all. There was very little about Bunnymund that could be called normal, least of all his behavior. 

But, all things considered, he was acting stranger than usual. Jack would be the first to admit that he and the lagomorph did not share anything resembling close friendship. Mutual tolerance, perhaps, an agreement not to beat each other up, but not friendship, and definitely not anything approaching a brotherly relationship. That bridge had been burned long before either of them had known there even _was_ a bridge to burn, and to mend the wounds that they had caused each other would be well nigh impossible.

Imagine, then, Jack’s surprise when Bunny invited him to come help paint eggs _in his Warren._

It was, to say the least, flabbergasting. Bunny _hated_ Jack. Bunny _didn’t trust_ Jack. Bunny believed that Jack was an irresponsible, selfish brat who didn’t deserve to _exist,_ let alone be a Guardian or have believers. Jack was the opposite of everything that Bunny stood for, providing destruction instead of beauty, death instead of life, cold instead of warmth, and pain instead of comfort. They were simply too different to get along with each other, so much that they hadn’t even bothered to _try_ to be friends.

Now, though, Bunny was trying to turn the tables, and Jack wasn’t so sure how to feel about that.

Sure, having Bunny hate him was painful. Jack had enough people who despised him, knew enough spirits who wanted to wipe him from the face of the earth, and the last thing he needed was to be forced to constantly interact with such a spirit. When the two fought and bickered, exchanging sharp barbs and cruel taunts, Bunny’s words honestly _hurt,_ and oftentimes it was only the vicious desire to harm Bunny back, to dish out pain in the same way that it had been dealt to him, that kept Jack from faltering in the middle of such a spat.

But these altercations with Bunny, these constant outpours of hate from either side, were at least _predictable_. Jack knew exactly what would happen and how he would be hurt, knew precisely how much pain would be dealt on either side. He knew what to expect, at least, which was more than could be said for the current state of affairs.

...Just what was Bunny playing at? Did he honestly want to fix what was wrong, to heal old hurts and repair something that was long broken? Or was this simply another trick, another attempt to lure Jack into a sense of false security, a cruel joke that would allow Jack to hope for a few, blinding seconds before reality set in and his dreams crashed in the dust? The uncertainty of the situation, the lack of control over what was happening, was enough to drive Jack ballistic.

At least before, he was familiar with how much he would suffer, but the way things were going...if Bunny’s game was to get Jack to trust him, only to break that trust, Jack wasn’t sure how long it would take him to recover, if he could recover at all. It wouldn’t be the first time someone betrayed him, and there were only so many times he could break before he shattered.

On the other hand, if Bunny was being sincere, that he would doubtless be hurt by Jack’s refusal. Not that Jack really cared before whether Bunny got hurt or not, but that was _before,_ when Bunny loathed him, and Jack didn’t usually waste time trying to care about people who would gladly see him dead. If Bunny was earnest, and genuinely wanted to bridge the gap between them, then that changed matters a great deal. 

It was a complicated situation, and one which Jack didn’t know how to handle. Although his every instinct was yelling at him to back away, to keep Bunny out, to not let him or any of the other Guardians get close, some traitorous part of his mind still _hoped_ that somehow this mess could be fixed. 

Jack glared at a neighboring tree, and sighed. All this circular reasoning was getting him absolutely nowhere. Unless he wanted to spend the next several decades in this tree and still not come to a decision, he was going to have to pick a course of action and stick with it. 

Which decision should he make, however? Should he make the safe decision, the responsible choice to remain distant from Bunny? Or should he take a risk, trusting to luck and fate to weather him through the storm unharmed?

As stated before, Jack was in a ‘reckless teenager’ phase, his mind a confused medley of thoughts and random urges. Thus, it was perhaps to be expected that suddenly, on an impulse, he mentally shrugged with an unspoken ‘why the hell not?’ and decide to trust Bunnymund just this once. Impulsiveness was a crucial part of Jack’s personality, after all, and many times this tendency has acted to his detriment.

This time, however, he felt reasonably certain that things would turn out just fine.

After all, what was the worst that could happen?

~=~

Boredom, apparently, was the worst that could happen.

Jack hissed in irritation for the umpteenth time, and contemplated throwing a snowball at Bunny’s head. When the oversized rodent had suggested that Jack help paint eggs, Jack had thought that there was a small, infinitesimally _tiny_ chance he would actually _paint some eggs._

But, no. Apparently, Jack was a ‘menace to society’ and a ‘spirit of mass destruction’ (he hadn’t meant to freeze Bunny's dye river, it had just _happened_ ), and had been consigned to simply watching from the sidelines as Bunny painted eggs, and painted eggs, and painted some more eggs. Which turned out to be an extremely boring activity, and left Jack wondering why he’d even bothered to show up at all.

“This is boring.”

Bunny continued painting serenely, entirely immersed in his task as he painted under a willow tree that was so large, its branches were dragging on the ground. “Not my problem.”

“It _is_ your problem,” Jack pointed out. “You dragged me here. It’s your responsibility to entertain me.”

“I didn’t drag ya, I invited ya, ya dag. Ya came by yerself.”

“Still, you invited me. The host is supposed to entertain the guests. It’s a rule.”

“Not in my Warren, it ain’t. I don’t have the time ta be all hospitable and accommodating. If yer bored, it’s yer own problem.”

Jack huffed. “You’re boring.”

There were a few moments of silence, during which Bunny continued to paint and Jack continued to be bored. Although the Warren was nice in its own way, and although he himself enjoyed the peace and quiet at times, Jack found the place to be a little _too_ quiet and orderly and proper. The Warren was neat and organized and perfect in every way, and as such was practically begging to have a little chaos and destruction spread within it. The urge to wreak havoc was a persistent itch underneath Jack’s skin, and it was taking all of his self-control to not give in to temptation.

If only he wasn’t so dismally _bored!_

With an exasperated sigh, Jack flopped on the ground and stared up sullenly through the branches of the willow, his gaze focused on the...ceiling? Sky? It was honestly hard to tell what exactly it was.

He wasn’t sure how many minutes they stayed like this, Bunny painting and Jack sulking, but soon enough the quiet of the Warren was broken by the sound of stomping.

Jack turned his head to the side, and watched dully as one of the large stone golems that guarded the Warren wandered around a few dozen yards away. Idly, he found himself wondering how they worked; he couldn’t sense any magic on them, no more than he could detect in a living being, but they were too sapient to be mere robots. 

Suddenly determined to get to the bottom of this, Jack turned on his side, picked his staff up from the ground, and poked Bunny in the shoulder with the crook.

Bunny stoically ignored him.

“Hey, Bunny.”

Silence. A poke.

“Bunny.”

Silence. Another poke.

“Bunnybunnybunnybunnybunny--”

“Whaddaya want?”

Bunny sounded utterly fed up with life in general and Jack in particular, and Jack grinned. Annoying Bunny was _fun._

“How do your giant stone eggs work?”

Bunny blinked. Clearly, whatever he’d expected Jack to say certainly hadn’t been that. He recovered quickly enough, though, and eyed Jack with a stern glare. “Magic, of course. What else?”

Jack frowned in thought. “That can’t be right. I can’t sense any magic on them.”

Bunny rolled his eyes, as if Jack was the stupidest spirit to have ever been born. “‘Course ya don’t, mate. It’s life magic. Ya can’t distinguish between the life magic of an animated pile of rock and normal life. There’s no difference, ‘cept in the origin of the life itself.”

“Life magic?”

Jack sounded confused, and for the first time, Bunny looked up from his painting, a frown on his face, only to be faced with Jack’s perplexed expression. Had he really neglected to tell Jack about his powers?

“Yeah. Life. I’m not just the Guardian of Hope, mate, I’m also the Guardian of Life.”

“Huh. And that means what, exactly?”

Bunny smirked, already anticipating Jack’s surprised expression. “Well, fer one thing, I was the one who created life on this planet of yers.”

Jack did not fail to disappoint, eyes becoming as wide as saucers as he stared at the lagomorph. “Holy...that means you’re...how old, exactly?”

“Around five thousand million years, I’d reckon. Give or take.”

Jack looked absolutely flabbergasted, and Bunny had to struggle to hide the grin that threatened to appear. It had been so long since he’d told someone else about himself, since he’d bothered to share pieces of his life with someone, that he’d almost forgotten what it was like to see the surprise and awe that came with knowing more about the grumpy, egg-obsessed Easter bunny.

“Wow, that’s, like, really old. How did you...I mean, were you always a spirit or something?”

“Naw, mate. Members of my species tended ta live a long time. I didn’t become a spirit until several millennia ago.”

“Members of your...species? What, you’re not a rabbit?”

Bunny scoffed. “Of course not. I’m a Pooka, I’m from an entirely different planet. The similarity with rabbits is just a coincidence.”

“...So you’re an alien.”

“Technically, ya lot are the aliens. I was here before there were humans. But yeah, I guess ya could call me an alien.”

“...Wow.”

Bunny chuckled at Jack’s shocked expression, even as he dipped the paintbrush in the small bucket of lilac paint by his side. “Careful, mate. If the wind changes, yer face will stick that way.”

The irony of the warning was not lost on Jack, who rolled his eyes sardonically. “Hardy har har, very funny.”

The paintbrush swished over the surface of the egg. “Wasn’t meant ta be. Pookas weren’t big on humor.”

“Why am I not surprised,” there were a few moments of silence before Jack caught on to something strange in Bunny’s sentence. “Wait a minute, ‘weren’t’?”

Bunny swallowed. “Yeah. Weren’t. I’m the last of my kind, there aren’t any more Pookas. Not that I know of, at least.”

“...What happened to the others?”

“Pitch,” Bunny responded shortly. “Pitch killed them.”

“...Oh.” 

Silence again, thought unlike before it was vastly more awkward, as Bunny steadfastly painted and Jack struggled to find something to say. Finally, the winter spirit settled on two words that he was used to saying. “I’m sorry.”

“Yer not the one who killed them, mate.”

“Still, I’m sorry.”

The statement earned a sharply inquisitive look from Bunny, but Jack didn’t bother to elaborate, instead going back to staring up at the ceiling/sky as he pondered that Easter long ago. He’d been so close then, so close to accepting Pitch’s offer, so close to renouncing all he stood for in exchange for a friend. He was still ashamed of himself, still contrite about his momentary weakness, and the knowledge that he’d been _this_ close to siding with the very spirit who’d murdered Bunny’s entire species just made the guilt _that_ much worse. 

Just when his musing was starting to take a rather depressing turn, Jack was startled by the feel of something small and light hitting him in the shoulder. Surprised, he lifted his head, only to receive another twig to the face, an occurrence which caused a frown to mar his pale face.

Once he was sure that he had the younger Guardian’s attention, Bunny stopped throwing twigs at him, instead rolling his green eyes. “C’mon, stop sulking and help me paint some eggs.”

It took a few moments for Jack to fully grasp what Bunny was saying, but once he did, a grin replaced the frown. “You sure about that, Cottontail? I’m not exactly much of a painter.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Just don’t freeze anything and she’ll be apples.”

Just don’t freeze anything. Jack tilted his head to one side, and considered. Yeah, he could do that, he had pretty good control if he focused properly.

“Okay, Kangaroo, you’re on.”

After all, what was the worst that could happen?

~=~

Although Jack was an artist, master of the intricate frost and the detailed snowflake, paint was definitely _not_ his medium. At least, not at first.

It wasn’t that he disliked painting itself. He found the rhythmic swishing of the brush to be calming and relaxing. Unfortunately, though, asking Jack Frost to paint was very much like asking a writer who had never drawn in their life to start painting a picture: you were only asking for disaster. Skill in one artistic medium did not automatically mean skill in a totally different medium, and Jack’s case was no exception.

It was therefore not unexpected for Jack’s first few attempts to mildly resemble the artwork of a terminally clumsy and confused owl. A remarkably apt comparison, considering that owls happened to be colorblind. 

Little by little, however, he slowly improved. Bunny’s paint wasn’t like the ordinary kind, and seemed to be made to be as easy and efficient to handle as possible. It dried as soon as it touched the surface of the egg, therefore minimizing the chances of the paint smudging, and some kind of magic in the brushes made it extremely easy to draw what should be impossibly thin lines, thus enabling him to add quite a bit of detail to his drawings.

As such, it wasn’t long before he moved on from solid color eggs to simple patterns, and from simple patterns to…

...fractals. Simple fractals, yes (after all, it was difficult to paint something as complicated as a Mandelbrot set on a surface as small as an egg), but still. Fractals.

Well, perhaps it was to be expected. After all, Jack worked with fractals every day of his life. Still, it was somewhat strange to see him paint triangle after minuscule triangle as he tried to render a copy of the Koch snowflake on the egg’s shell.

So engrossed in his work was he, that he almost didn’t notice when Bunny crept away under the pretext of getting a drink of water. So preoccupied was he, that he didn't detect Bunny’s return at all. So absorbed, so consumed, so immersed was he, that he didn’t notice the Pooka creeping next to him, a glass of water in one hand as, with the other paw, he moved to touch Jack’s shoulder.

As such, when he felt the warmth of Bunny’s paw on his shoulder, he was naturally somewhat spooked.

Now, to understand the cause for Jack’s somewhat violent reaction, one must first examine his past. Throughout the three centuries of his life, Jack had been attacked, betrayed, ambushed innumerable times. He was all too familiar with other spirits sneaking up on him as they tried to finish him off, for there were many who would pay an exorbitant price to see the Suzerain of Winter dead and buried. 

As such, he had been conditioned to react precipitately and vehemently to anything even remotely resembling an assault on his person. “Shoot first and ask questions later,” was the mantra, and it was one that had saved his life many times before.

So, when Bunny frightened him, Jack responded by tossing the egg and paintbrush aside, picking up his staff, and twisting around to throw a bolt of winter magic at Bunny, all before he even realized who or what startled him in the first place. 

Bunny was a highly skilled warrior, swift of brain and body. As such, he rapidly ducked, the bright blue flash missing him by a hairbreadth, instead flying over his shoulder…

…and hitting the willow tree.

The willow tree, while old and strong, didn’t stand a chance against the powers of winter. With a deathly crackle, it froze, wilted, and died, leaves falling pathetically to the ground in a shower of betrayal and broken promises.

The two Guardians stared at the (by now very dead) tree, one of them sporting a shocked and horrified expression, while the other’s face was quickly morphing into an emotion remarkably and alarmingly like anger. Swallowing nervously, Jack made as if to fly away, only to be abruptly pulled out of the air by a furry paw grasping at his hood and yanking him down to the ground, the harsh treatment prompting a surprised cry from the younger spirit.

The resulting yell from the lagomorph was to be expected, yet it still made Jack flinch. “What the _hell,_ mate!”

“I’m sorry!” he yelped, trying desperately to get Bunny to let go of his hoodie. “I’m sorry, okay, I didn’t mean to--”

“I told ya not ta freeze anything!”

“I already said I’m sorry! Besides, you were the one who startled me!”

“I tapped ya on the shoulder, mate, I didn’t _stab_ ya in the _throat!_ Honestly, what was I thinking, of course ya’d pull something like this--”

“It wasn’t on purpose!”

“I don’t care if it was on purpose or not, it shouldn’t have happened in the first place!”

Jack trashed, and finally managed to break free of Bunny’s grip. “You can’t just sneak up on someone and expect them not to react!”

“I didn’t expect ya ta kill my bloody tree, mate! I thought ya had more self-control than that, but clearly I was wrong.”

That comment stung. “I have self-control.”

“Then why can’t ya prove it by not destroying everything in yer path? Crikey, mate, I’m _obliged_ ta let ya inside my Warren, don’t make this more difficult than it has ta be!”

Jack froze, muscles locking in place as the full meaning of Bunny’s words made itself clear to him.

...Obliged.

Obliged.

_Obliged._

Bunny hadn’t let him into his Warren of his own free will. Instead, Bunny had been _obliged_ to let him in. _Obliged,_ because of _course_ Bunny wouldn’t want someone like Jack, stupid, reckless, destructive Jack Frost, into his precious Warren. No, he had to be _obliged_ to do it.

And, horrifyingly enough, it made _sense._ After all, why would Bunny, Guardian of Life and Envoy of Spring, want to even be in the same _room_ with the very spirit who shepherded winter and death alike? Why would Bunny want to accommodate with a low-life, a pariah, a spirit who was hated by all and loved by none? It made _sense_ that Bunny would need to be forced to deal with Jack. There was no way in hell that any of this had been a voluntary move on Bunny’s part.

Somehow, this fact caused Jack’s anger to boil over, and himself to lose his precarious control over his own emotions. Before he even realized it, he was speaking, voice suddenly high and cold and sharp and fractured, like ice breaking on sharp rocks. “ _Obliged,_ huh?”

Bunny was quickly becoming aware of the fact that he had just said something very, very stupid. “Wait, no, mate, that wasn’t what I meant--”

Oh no. No, no, no. Bunny hadn’t listened when Jack tried to apologize for freezing the tree, so Jack sure as hell wasn’t going to let Bunny talk his way out of this one. “ _Obliged,_ huh? Gee, I wonder what or who had _obliged_ the grumpy Easter Kangaroo to let his worst enemy into his Warren? Let me guess, it was Tooth who _obliged_ you to do it, wasn’t it?”

“I don’t see ya as an enemy, mate,” retorted Bunny feebly, but his flinch when Jack mentioned Tooth’s name betrayed him. Jack grinned at Bunny’s momentary weakness, a feral, bitter, cutting smile that was nothing like his usual one, a dangerous flash of the teeth that made Bunny wince again and stare at the Guardian of Fun in trepidation.

With growing agitation, the Pooka noted the sudden harshness of Jack’s voice, the blankness of his gaze, the rigidity of his posture. Whoever this was, this was no longer the happy-go-lucky Jack Frost that Bunny knew. This was a cold, caustic, harsh spirit, a resentful young man with a mind and temper as sharp as ice shards. _This_ Jack was jagged, brittle, unfeeling, and dangerous in his unpredictability. This Jack Frost was, in short, downright alarming, and caused shivers to go up Bunny’s spine.

As such, he didn't dare to interrupt when Jack spoke, the teenager’s voice like ice cracking underfoot. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to infringe further on your _gracious_ hospitality, Bunny. After all, it must be _terribly_ difficult for a spring spirit such as you to deal with a winter spirit like myself. So, in the interests of politeness, I’m afraid I must be going.”

Bunny opened his mouth to protest, but was cut off by a shark-toothed smile from Jack, a mocking smirk that spoke of cruelty and pain. With a disdainful gesture, Jack Frost turned on his heel and began walking away. 

Bunny let him leave, watching numbly as Jack Frost vanished between the trees.

~=~

Kehaar was old, older than the mountains, older than the sea, older than the deserts. Indeed, the only thing on this Earth that was older than him was his master, E. Aster Bunnymund himself.

Kehaar had been the first of many, the first of the egg golems, the first of the creatures that lived and died to protect their master. He had helped his master shape the Earth, had assisted him with creating mountains and oceans, had aided him in bringing the glory that was Life to the barren emptiness of the Earth. Kehaar had been there since the beginning, and would remain until the end.

Kehaar was also entirely unique from his brothers and sisters, and not in a good way.

Emotions can influence and shape magic, sometimes twisting it into something you didn’t want or need. What was once a perfectly harmless spell could turn into the worst of curses, if the caster happened to be angry or depressed enough during the casting.

When E. Aster Bunnymund created Kehaar, the first of the egg golems, he had still been heartbroken and bitter over the loss of his people, and this had shaped the life magic, corrupting it so that loathing and sorrow formed an essential part of it. As such, Kehaar was a being made of pure hatred and anguish, formed of the hundreds of dark emotions that had plagued his maker, and as such, he was a treacherous being.

Oh, he would always remain loyal to his master, until the end of time itself, but sometimes Kehaar did bad, _bad_ things in order to please his maker. Sometimes, when someone upset the last of the Pookas and Bunnymund refused to get revenge (because he was too foolish, too kind-hearted, too merciful, and Kehaar had to protect him from himself, he _had_ to), Kehaar would bring about justice in his own way. And if sometimes, blood was shed or a life was lost...well, so long as it was to protect his creator, it was all right. All Kehaar had to do was make sure that Bunnymund didn’t find out, after all.

There was, however, one spirit with which Kehaar hadn’t settled the score, one constant thorn in his master’s side which he hadn’t eliminated.

That thorn was Jack Frost.

Kehaar _despised_ Jack Frost. 

Jack Frost was everything that E. Aster Bunnymund was not. Flighty, irresponsible, moronic, a killer, the winter spirit’s mere presence was an insult to everything that Bunnymund stood for. Moreover, the winter spirit seemed incapable of understanding that he wasn’t _wanted_ , wasn’t _needed_ , instead continuing to plague his elders and betters and drive them to distraction. It was enough to make Kehaars nonexistent blood _boil,_ and oftentimes the egg golem wondered how Bunnymund managed to _stand_ the annoying, pesky spirit.

Well, no longer. If everything went according to plan, E. Aster Bunnymund would never again have to deal with the irritation that was Jack Frost. Kehaar would protect his master, would level the playing field as he had done so many times before, would stamp out Jack Frost until he was no more than dust underneath his stone feet.

Slowly, like a snake stalking its prey, the egg golem descended upon the unsuspecting winter spirit.

~=~

Jack was justifiably somewhat miffed, both at Bunny and himself. Bunny for lying to him, for giving him false hope (and oh, wasn’t that irony at its finest), and himself for believing the lies, for allowing himself to be tricked, for letting the situation get this far. He’d been an idiot to even entertain the possibility of Bunny being earnest, of the invitation being more than the performing of some chore. 

Jack huffed as he stomped through the forest. Obliged. The word sounded bitter to his ears, ringing of falsehood and responsibilities and insincerity, and reminding him that Bunny had never wanted to be friends with him in the first place. No, all of Bunny’s behavior up to now could be adequately explained by the fact that he’d been _obliged_ (Jack sneered at the word) to do it. 

He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, really. Spring spirits always hated winter spirits, it was the way of the world. For him to have believed, however faintly, that Bunny would be any different…

...He _must_ have been temporarily insane at the time, that was sure. Probably one too many blizzards, or maybe it had been that eggnog of North’s. Come to think of it, he’d thought it tasted a little strange--

_Thud._

The ground trembled underfoot, as if from an earthquake, and Jack could tell that the epicenter of the vibrations lay right behind him. Swiftly raising his staff, he turned around…

...Only to be faced with the sight of a massive, stone foot bearing down on him.

~=~

The first scream echoed throughout a large portion of the Warren, a sound of pure pain and terror, a horrible cry that was only ever made by creatures in mortal agony. It was accompanied by the ghastly sound of bones breaking, like large matchsticks being snapped in two, and the combination was concerning enough to immediately capture Bunny’s attention.

Worryingly enough, there was no second scream, meaning that whoever had made that horrible cry was probably unconscious, or dead.

Briefly, Bunny’s thoughts turned to Jack. Was it he who had made that sound? Had he hurt himself? Was he being ambushed? Tortured, perhaps, under Bunny’s very nose?

The possibility was troubling, but also rather unlikely. No one could have gone past the wards, after all, not without Bunny’s explicit permission. After the incident with Pitch’s Nightmares, he doubted he would ever make that mistake again.

In addition, it was impossible for anyone within the Warren itself to attack Jack. Certainly, Jack was annoying, but he was a fellow Guardian, and Bunny would never instruct one of his sentinels or googies to hurt him, not even after the argument they had that day.

Unless…

_Kehaar._

The thought was enough to make him drop what he was doing and run like mad towards the source of the awful shriek. He knew all too well how unbalanced and prejudiced Kehaar was (especially towards winter spirits, _especially_ towards Jack), and how determined the deranged golem was to destroy everything and everyone that threatened Bunny, but he’d never thought that Kehaar would have the audacity to harm a Guardian.

It appears he’d been wrong, through. Today’s fight with Jack must have been the breaking point, the event that spurred Kehaar on. He _knew_ he should have destroyed Kehaar before this, knew he should have crushed the twisted life he’d managed to create, but he’d always found it difficult to kill living things. It went against his nature and his purpose.

Now, though, he was wishing that he’d been stronger, that he’d been able to muster the courage to exterminate Kehaar. Because of his mercifulness, his _weakness,_ Jack was alone, hurt, and possibly dead.

Because of him, Jack could die, and the thought was remarkably _terrifying._

He’d never thought he’d cared about the winter spirit. Jack Frost was an annoyance, a constant thorn in his side that he resented, a pest that continuously aggravated him. Moreover, he was everything that Bunny was not, their personalities and powers utterly incompatible, the only common trait between them being their excessive stubbornness. By all rights, they should hate each other with a passion.

But...painting eggs with Jack had been fun, to be honest, and so had been the talk. He never thought he could maintain a civil conversation with _Jack Frost_ of all people, but it turned out he was wrong, and the change from the constant arguing was nice. 

Maybe Tooth, bothersome Tooth with her half-baked schemes and her alarmingly sharp swords, had a point. Maybe he and Jack could be friends.

Now, though, he had to save Jack from the monster he himself had breathed life into.

~=~

Jack was dying.

This was not in itself a particularly unusual occurrence. There were, after all, a remarkably large number of people who wanted to see Jack dead, and as a result he’d been forced to endue numerous attempts on his life, which in turn led to him spending a rather large amount of time either injured, unconscious, or on the brink of death. On one memorable occasion, he’d been thrown to the ground before having a sword thrust through his midsection, pinning him down to the sandy ground like a butterfly to a card. The fact that this had happened in the Gobi desert, and that a sandstorm had tried to bury him in the middle of his struggles for freedom, just made the whole experience _that_ much worse.

This time, however, was especially notable, if only because he was currently being crushed to death by one of Bunny’s egg golems, which was decidedly not the way he’d envisioned himself to go. He would have laughed at the irony of it all if his shattered ribs weren’t currently being squeezed out of his body via his mouth. As it was, though, all he managed was a wet cough, blood dribbling pathetically from the corner of his mouth.

The massive foot on his chest shifted, further twisting and snapping the frail bones, and Jack would have screamed in agony if he could. It hurt like hell, his bones crunching in his chest, digging into his insides and puncturing his ribs. He wished he could fall unconscious already, but adrenaline and fear were keeping him awake and alert, much to his dismay.

He really should get out of this situation somehow. Being stepped on couldn’t be good for his back, or any part of him really. 

Slowly, he turned his head, dull blue gaze falling on the sight of his staff lying a few inches away from him. Half-delirious from the pain, he reached out for the aged piece of wood, bloodstained fingers wrapping weakly around the shaft of the weapon as he lifted it off the ground. Then, he shifted his grip so that the curved end of the staff was pointed straight at the golem, and fired.

There was a blinding flash of blue-white light as a blast of winter magic was shot at the golem, knocking it back slightly and coating its surface with a thick layer of frost and ice. The pressure on Jack’s chest increased abruptly and painfully as the golem’s foot dug into him, but it soon lightened as the giant stone creature stumbled back, disoriented from the blast, the ground trembling underneath its feet.

Not for the first time, Jack found himself wondering at the sheer _size_ of the creature. It was easily three or four times as large as the regular sentinels, why on Earth would Bunny ever have felt the need to create a warrior egg this damn _big?_

And heavy. Ow. Everything hurt.

Speaking of which, he should probably get out of here before that thing regained its senses. 

Groaning, the half-unconscious winter spirit tried to sit up, but only made it halfway before collapsing back to the ground, breathing heavily through grit teeth as he stubbornly fought the urge to scream. Moon, but it _hurt,_ he couldn’t even _breathe_ without feeling like his own shattered ribs were trying to stab him through the heart, how was he supposed to get out of this place?

In his peripheral vision, the winter spirit noticed the golem heading towards him again, and this sight was enough to prompt him to make another attempt at getting up, with the same result. Panic began to leak in through the pain-induced fog in his mind when he realized that no, he couldn’t leave, couldn’t get away, couldn’t escape from the danger bearing down on him.

As Kehaar neared, Jack’s struggles intensified, the winter spirit nearly whimpering as he writhed in a pool of his own blood, trying frantically to put as much distance as possible between himself and the approaching sentinel. His bloodstained hands clutched fervently at the grass as he tried and failed to drag himself away, only succeeding in staining the green ground a dull red.

Why couldn’t he _get away?_ He’d _always_ been able to get away. Even in that incident with the Gobi desert and the sword he’d been able to get away. Why couldn’t he get away now?

Distantly, he was aware of the wind buffeting around him, trying vainly to push back the golem. Briefly, he considered flying out of there, but before he could ask the wind to take him away, he felt himself falling unconsciousness, the blood loss finally getting to him.

_No!_

Black spots were dancing erratically across his vision, and he himself was rapidly losing his grip on reality, his mind and senses becoming hazy and uncooperative. He could no longer hear the stomping of the sentinel's feet against the ground, could barely feel the vibrations of the earth underneath him as the thing grew ever nearer.

He would die here, he realized dimly. The golem was magical, after all, filled with magic that was entirely opposite to his own. He would die here, and become nothing more than a crumpled, mangled shell.

Perhaps flowers would grow on his corpse. The grim thought made him smile ever so slightly. Imagine, the body of a spirit of winter, of cold and death, serving as fertilizer for flowers, for new life. It was depressingly ironic--

Was that yelling he was hearing?

~=~

“What the hell do ya think yer doing?!”

E. Aster Bunnymund was angry.

No, scratch that, he was bloody _furious,_ both at himself and at Kehaar. None of this should have happened, Jack should never have been hurt, yet here they were now, with Bunny glaring at a demented golem while Jack slowly expired in a pool of dark red blood.

He couldn’t bring himself to look at the mauled, wrecked figure on the ground, instead opting to glower at the one responsible as he placed himself between the sentinel and Jack. His ears flattened down to his head in consternation when he heard the mutilated winter spirit give a small, distressed whimper. 

Kehaar, for his part, looked unrepentant, or at least as unrepentant as a stone egg could look. Bunny could practically feel the hate pouring off the golem, hate directed at Jack and winter spirits and all things winter, and the feeling was enough to make Bunny shiver. Whatever hope he’d had that Kehaar would ever reform was now irrecoverably crushed. He would only harm the world by allowing Kehaar to live.

His face settling into an expression of grim determination, Bunny unsheathed his boomerangs and charged the sentinel.

~=~

Within a few minutes, Kehaar was nothing more than a lifeless pile of rock.

Bunny was sorrowful, although he tried to convince himself that it was all for the best. Kehaar had, after all, been slated for destruction from the moment of his birth. It had to happen, all these years he’d only been delaying the inevitable.

He still wished he could have done something, however. Killing Kehaar, destroying life he’d created, had been excruciatingly painful. It had to be done, though, and at least Jack would not be hurt further.

Jack…

The lagomorph sighed as he turned towards the bloody mess that was Jack Frost, wincing in sympathy as his green eyes took in the extent of the damage. His ribs were splintered and snapped, stabbing his crushed torso from the inside and mangling his organs. It was honestly a miracle that he was still breathing, however faintly.

Now looking profoundly saddened and guilty, the Pooka sheathed his boomerangs before bending down and gently picking Jack up, doing his best to avoid further jarring the teen’s smashed ribs. He cringed when Jack whined in agony, but continued, knowing that he had to treat Jack’s injuries as soon as possible if he didn’t want Jack to die. 

Die…

The thought made Bunny hasten to his home, to a cave in a rock-face which harbored his sleeping quarters, his library, his kitchen, and, most importantly, his infirmary. He couldn't seem to reach the cave fast enough, feet thumping against the ground as he tried to run as quickly as possible while minimizing the damage that the rough method of transport would inflict on the winter spirit bundled in his arms.

Despite his best efforts, however, Jack was whimpering almost constantly by the time they reached the infirmary, and Bunny was nearly beside himself with worry and guilt. He steeled himself, however, placing Jack on a cot before reaching for his medical supplies.

It was time for him to fix his friend.

~=~

When Jack next woke up, he felt as if his chest was on fire.

He groaned groggily as he pried his eyes open, and was momentarily confused by the change in his surroundings. Hadn’t he been alone in a clearing, mewling pathetically as he lay dying? What was he doing in a bed in this cave?

Then the pain caught up with him, and he was curling in on himself, breathing raggedly as he resisted the urge to thrash, cry out, anything. Whoever had brought him to this place had already seen him at his weakest, at his most vulnerable, and he wanted to somehow put together the pieces of his broken pride, even if it required something as futile as not allowing himself the luxury of screaming. He knew deep down that it was stupid and pointless, but he could delude himself into thinking otherwise if it made him feel better.

It seemed he wasn’t capable of doing even that, however, a strangled cry of pain making itself heard when the burning in his chest suddenly intensified. The sound wasn’t particularly loud, but it was enough for the door to the room to snap open, allowing a harried Pooka into the room.

“Easy, mate. Lie straight, you’ll hurt yer ribs again that way.”

Jack gritted his teeth as Bunny helped him straighten out. As petty as it may seem, the Pooka was the absolute last person Jack wanted to see right now. Even Pitch would have been more welcome at this point.

He tried to protest, tried to lift his head and snarl at Bunny to leave, but all he managed was a guttural rasp when his abused throat tried and failed to work properly. Irritatingly enough, the Pooka seemed to interpret the noise as some kind of request, and instead of leaving, he grabbed a glass of water from the night-table by the bed and held it to Jack’s lips.

Winter spirits didn't strictly need food, but they _had_ to have water, as they tended to dehydrate easily and could fall into a coma from lack of water. As such, though Jack dearly wanted to grab the glass and throw it in Bunny’s furry face, his instincts urged him to drink the water. And drink he did, though he made sure to glare at the Pooka during the process.

Bunny either didn’t see or ignored the glare, focusing instead on helping Jack to drink. Once the glass was empty, he placed it back on the wooden night-table.

The water had done wonders for Jack’s throat, removing the pain and raspiness from his vocal cords, and he made sure to take full advantage of that, speaking quietly and breathily in an attempt to prevent his ribs from shifting. “What are you doing?”

Bunny gave him a funny look. “Healing ya, mate. What else?”

Jack gave him a deadpan stare. “Well, considering that you sicced one of your golems on me, I didn’t think you’d be all that eager to help me recover afterwards. That’s not usually how attempted murder works.”

Bunny flinched. “I didn’t sic the sentinel on ya.”

“Oh really?” Jack challenged. “Then who did?”

“Nobody. The sentinel sicced himself.”

“Why do I find that hard to believe?”

Bunny gritted his teeth and restrained himself from making a cutting comment. “I’m serious, mate. The sentinel who attacked ya...he was insane. Always has been, in fact.”

“Why did you keep him, then?”

“...It’s difficult for me ta destroy life that I created. Kinda feels like I’m ripping my own heart outta my chest. I knew I’d have ta destroy him eventually, but I kept putting it off...I never thought he’d go so far as ta hurt a Guardian, though. I’m sorry, mate.”

“...Ah.”

There was a brief, awkward silence, during which Bunny stared at the ground and Jack fiddled with the blankets. At last, though, Jack became irritated with the sudden quietude, and began trying to clamber out of bed, determined to leave at once. 

Bunny, naturally, didn’t like that one bit. “What do ya think yer doing?”

“Leaving, of course. Hey, do you know where my staff is?”

“Ya can’t leave yet, Frosty, yer wounds aren’t healed!”

“As _touching_ as your concern is, I’m _fine,_ Kangaroo,” sneered Jack, as he began hauling himself out of bed.

Bunny was quick to shove him back down against the pillows. “No, ya aren't. Yer not leaving until I say ya can, and that’s final. Yer still injured, and I’m not letting ya run around until I’m sure that yer fully recovered.”

Although it was certainly childish, Jack couldn’t stop himself from making a jab. “Why? Is it because you’re _obliged_ to take care of me, ‘Roo?” 

“No. It’s because I care about ya, ya drongo.”

…

“You must be joking.”

“I’m not, Jack.”

“...But...Why? What’s in it for you?”

Bunny looked surprised at the question. “Why should there be something in it for me?”

“Most people don’t usually help me unless they’re trying to get something out of it, Cottontail. I’m not exactly very popular in the spirit world.”

Bunny swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Well, I’m not most people. I’m helping ya because I want ta help ya. That’s it. No strings attached.”

“...You serious?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.”

…

“Sorry for freezing your tree, by the way.”

“Don’t worry about it, mate. I’m also sorry, fer saying that rot about being obliged ta help ya. It’s not true.”

“Apology accepted.”

…

“You’re still boring, though.”

_“Jack!”_

**Author's Note:**

> Koch snowflake and Mandelbrot set are fractals. Look them up, they're cool. 
> 
> Also, this is very long, so there might be errors I have missed. Please let me know if you find any. Also, stupid ending is stupid, I apologize. I couldn't figure out how to end this effing monster of a one-shot.
> 
> Constructive criticism welcome.


End file.
